Archives for category: Emotions and Actions


I scrolled down my Facebook feed last night, image after image of comments, photos, memes about a fresh tragedy in Charleston. Nine souls in heaven now, countless beings writhing in anguish because someone thought it was okay – or necessary – to kill in order to try to control their environment.

Cynthia Hurd, Reverend Sharonda Singleton, Ethel Lance, Tywanza Sanders, The Honorable Reverend Clementa Pinkney, Myra Thompson, Reverend DePayne Middleton-Doctor, Reverend Daniel Simmons, and Susie Jackson have all left this world at the hands of another person. Beautiful people; this world misses them.

Dylann Roof thought he had something to protect from them.

From us.

I see posts by my dark-skinned friends and wonder if their feelings about me have changed. I look pretty darn white. I’m afraid to comment. I value their friendship; I love them, even the ones I’ve never broken bread with. I don’t want to lose them. I agree with them. I wonder if they would believe that. I sit in silence.

That’s my attempt to control my environment.

I see comments by Charleston citizens of my own apparent ethnicity, heartbroken that someone violated the ‘charm’ of their city. Much of that ‘charm’ was built through the theft of the sweat of slaves. Can I tell my friends that some of my own ancestors landed in Charleston, hundreds of years ago? There’s a street there named after my mother’s family. They went on to own a plantation in Alabama.

Shame. Secrets. Pain.

I’ve listened to relatives pine about lost grandeur, wistfully flipping through photos of elegant sitting rooms and rolling lawns. I’m riveted by the photos of the slave cabins (no one calls them that anymore; now they’re ‘out-buildings’). I’m afraid to comment. I value their friendship; I love them, even the ones who have hit me repeatedly. I don’t want to lose them. But I don’t agree with them. I wish I could think of something to say that would open their minds. I sit in silence.

Shame. Secrets. Despair.

Gender, Race, Nationality, Species, for goodness’ sake. Whatevah. But whatevah matters.

Karma. Our state of mind, our actions, bring us to our present conditions. Our world is our mirror. Everything we see and experience reflects our own state of mind. Thank goodness it’s fluid and mutable.

I believe in reincarnation. Not because it makes sense, but because of what I’ve seen firsthand (out of body experience in 1999, dreams beyond enumeration).

In recent years, I’ve explored regression hypnosis. I wanted to know if I’ve been abducted by ‘aliens’. I wanted to know how far back my Buddhist roots go. Instead of plunging back into memories of darkened bedrooms, mysterious glowing lights and little people with big eyes and elephant-hide skin, or sitting in caves in the Himalayas, I got histories beyond this world.

In every session, my mind has carried me to worlds so unlike this one that description strains possibility. I’ve been a humanoid aquatic being with golden and blue skin that flowed in rippling ribbons around my legs. I’ve been a spindly, withered being that buried himself deep in sand so he could send his mind to other bodies in other universes in order to try and open minds, teach. I’ve been a pilot of a starship trying to blast through a crusty yet etheric shield around earth – eons ago. I’ve been a young goatherd living in remote mountains who left home to travel with the star beings who visited regularly. I’ve been a fat old woman who ran a boarding house in a post-apocalyptic America-like place, having lost all family and friends and living in a neo-agrarian society without even a post office.

It’s enough to make me want to write Science Fiction, because I doubt anyone might believe they’re my memories. As if it matters. It’s enough to make me wonder how humans can be so confused that we think we’re not the same, just because we look different or hold different beliefs. And yet, each time I return to this waking life I marvel that I can be both Leslee and all those beings. If I can be all those beings, then I can also be a person killed in a senseless shooting. Or the person firing the gun.

I try to keep my vision focused on the facets of the mirror that please me, wishing to love and share and cherish others. But the hateful glimpses keep popping into my peripheral vision. There’s some house-keeping to be done.

Since I was a little kid growing up in 1960’s Alabama, I’ve been confronted with racism ranging from subtle to terrifyingly flagrant. It frightens me to the core. If humans hate each other because of culture and skin color, what’s to protect me from the hatred of others? If I don’t even identify myself as human, how can I walk in this world without fear?

In this life, here I sit as an overweight white female, trying to learn to accept it, even to love it; trying to learn to love myself. Somehow, I pray to believe, that effort works towards bringing unconditional love to this world.

Here’s what I’m up against:

Ever since I was a little kid, I’ve hated my white skin.

Not because I’m racist; because it just looks like the wrong skin. It’s not the skin I was expecting in this life. I gaze upon people with golden caramel-colored skin or deep coffee-colored skin, smile at their radiant beauty, and pray to have my skin back in my next life. It might be African, it might be Tibetan or Mayan, I don’t know or care. Just please not this splotchy pink translucent stuff. I can’t explain it; I can only confess it’s where I’m at, and I want to move to a better place.

For now, I have to deal with this white skin.

When I was a little girl, I used to check regularly to see if my missing genitalia was finally growing in. I’m not a lesbian or trans-gender; I just thought I was supposed to be a guy. When I got my first menstrual cycle, I sobbed in despair; I was doomed to life as a female. I knew instinctively at that young age that to be female in that present world and time meant to be perceived as less-than, dis-empowered.

For now, I have to deal with this female gender.

When I got pregnant, I gained 75 pounds. Twenty years later, I still carry 30 of them. I don’t recognize myself in the mirror.

Which is, of course, the root of the situation at hand.

Thank goodness I believe these transient conditions will pass. Thank goodness I can see the world changing before my very eyes. Thank goodness I believe we can come through this mess of current events with a deeper understanding of ourselves and how we connect and create our realities. Because I can’t wait to fall in love with what I see in the mirror.

I don’t want to live in a world of self-hatred, with constant reminders flashing before me on Facebook and the news.

To accomplish that, I must learn to love others as myself. It’s a process. I don’t want to feel separate from others. I don’t want resentment, anger, despair. I want love, peace and community.

To accomplish that, I must learn to love myself, so my mirror-world doesn’t show me the horror of Dylann Roof’s actions. Dylann Roof hates himself far more than those he killed. That’s how he can stand expressionless while listening to loved ones of the dead plead with him to repent. He doesn’t feel worthy of salvation; his despair runs that deep.

Does my despair run that deep? Does your despair run that deep?

Can I accept my own circumstances – the world I’ve created – and be willing to surrender my wish to control, protect, preserve? Am I willing to insist on love at any cost?

When I remember that this is just one life, just one world among countless universes, the conditions I grasp with my might-as-well-be-skeleton-hands dissolve and waft away like strands of a spiderweb in a soft breeze, like a forgotten dream.

I have work to do.

Because I have work to do, we have work to do.

You are me. I am you. I love you.

This matters. Please don’t shrug this off and say, “whatevah”. In every moment we make choices that lead us along our path in this world, and thus we choose what we will next see in the mirror of our world.

Please help me remember in those every moments, that we come from boundless love abiding in stillness and peace. We just got a little bored and decided to incarnate. We don’t have to create pain.

Please, let’s do this together.

Thank you – please accept my deepest gratitude.

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It’s all y’all’s fault!

(chuckling…)

I heard this phrase at work on Friday, and it struck me, how incredibly, deeply, indelibly Southern it is…

From the accent, to the habit of blaming, to the clumping of anyone that’s not “yer folk” into a vast glob of otherness. The lilting sing-song that wafts on the breeze, a veiled curse…

Thank goodness it was said jokingly in this instance…

Still, we speak what we know… And since I still live here and experience such things, I feel compelled to own the part of myself that sometimes wants to join in with the battle cry: it’s all y’all’s fault!!!

Spank me. Let’s get on with it, team… I’m really trying to move beyond “all y’all’s fault”…


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About two weeks ago I finally got so freaking fed up with allowing myself to be drawn, sucked, entranced, manipulated into feeling… something… yuck, heavy, slow, bleak… that I charged myself with the experiment of practicing what I preach describe: to watch the mind and attend to its direction. I chose to tend it towards light and positive, without forcing…

Happy to report: it seems to be working… again.

Wishing you all a delightful weekend full of pleasant surprises!

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it sounds so simple, eh?


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The grounds of the Talladega SuperSpeedway in the aftermath of the 2013 qualifying rounds…


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(To skip ahead to the Dream Instructions, please scroll down about 12 paragraphs, past the conversation.)

Lately I’ve been grappling with some frustrations over wanting more clarity about several decisions I see hovering in the coming weeks.

I’m dancing around Springtime energies, which for me seem as disruptive as fat bamboo bursting through Georgia clay.

As I was walking home a few nights ago, I tried my best to focus on figuring out what I was even asking for. I’ve spent a couple months sitting down, asking to connect, to be shown something, anything, that might give me some direction.

I confess I’m nostalgic for the days from three springs ago, when the words of All About Enlightenment flowed through the pendulum and pen for hours a day, for six weeks. Those days burst with energy and purpose, but they also brought great trauma and deep disruption in my family life and relationships. I received the connection I longed for, and the assignment I craved, at the price of a semblance of a “normal” life.

So in the aftermath I’m comparatively cautious about what I ask for, and how strongly I stamp my feet when things seem a bit quiet for my taste.

I seem to get more clear answers through dreams than meditation, and recently my meditations have been pretty darned dull. This week, I’m terrifically encouraged by some suggestions I received on April 22 for dreamwork. So far I’ve tried this for three nights, and each attempt has yielded information I asked for. So I’ll share the steps below, in hopes that you might find them helpful.

Meanwhile, back to my walk home and its results.

To put this in context, I was griping to my Guides about some physical constraints I was feeling. In that light, I was fantasizing about having my ET friends come and whisk me into an easier circumstance. It started out like this:

“Is it possible for You to appear in physical form, to my physical form?”

No.

“So let’s suppose there are ETs that might… Possible?”

Yes.

“Are they Enlightened?”

Yes.

“But so what? Let’s say a ship lands tomorrow. What are they really going to do?”

I’ll elaborate on the rest of the conversation elsewhere, for the sake of staying on topic. When I settled down for the evening, here’s what I got.

“I need to make specific dream requests. I want to learn how to go to particular ‘places’, meet with specific beings, and reach an understanding of specific things. Possible?”

No. You need training.

“Can You please help with this?”

Yes.

STEPS

1. Generate a peaceful mind. Demanding won’t work. Visualize yourself already knowing how. (This would be so cool if I could share this tomorrow after having it work!) This takes the most practice.

2. Place the request to meet. Hold the idea of a Being very loosely… Do NOT visualize. Prepare yourself to accept whatever arises, and TRUST.

3. Place the request for information. Try to hold this in the most generic terms possible. Yet have a sense of [forth] the specific feeling you wish to experience when you return ‘here’. What will ‘accomplishment’ feel like?

4. If it feels appropriate, visualize the ‘golden cord’, from your Pineal to your High Heart, especially if your mind wanders while trying to do the other steps.

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5. Consider your requests: where, who, what to discuss/learn, why to meet. Choose one as a priority, in case all requests cannot be met simultaneously.

6. Request how much to recall.

I fell asleep trying to recall the steps, and before I could envision the golden cord. Perhaps holding it as an intention was enough.

My main request was to learn/see something that would help me understand very clearly our relationships to guides, and how this world appears so ‘real’… Illusion… Understanding how the illusion is produced and sustained, and how it relates to other dimensions…

I’ll share the details of the dream that followed in another post (probably on Bandaid Buddhist), but I was amazed at how precisely and extensively my request was answered!

As I mentioned earlier, I’ve continued to use these steps for three nights, and each night I’ve remembered at least one dream that responded to my requests. It’s taken some morning meditation and journaling the dreams to process their meanings more fully, but I’m really delighted with the results.

I’d love to hear your thoughts and experiences, especially if you try this method too… If you give it a shot, I hope it yields some results you find useful. We all dream and envision differently, so please try try try, and listen for your own nudges about how to burst through the clay of daily life into the magical journey into other realms.

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Speaking of the times it seems we’re in…

This fellow resides on the street where I’ve been staying this Spring. He’s lived there for some years it seems, and although the street and tree are quite familiar to me, I never noticed his beaming face until recently.

I wonder if he’s appeared to remind me of something. The past few months have been a blur of partly-remembered dreams, nearly-focused intentions, and unclear direction.

This blur pervades my sleeping and waking, and it’s well outside my realm of familiarity or comfort.

I’ve been almost as quiet as my friend here. Description escapes me most of the time, and when I feel like I might be verging near to some sort of insight, there mere act of sitting to type seems inappropriately self-focused.

Is the point to blur?

It feels like being caught adrift in an oak blossom boat in the pollen river from yesterday’s post: swirling too fast to catch onto anything worth grasping.

A motif weaves through it all: Change Arrives.

It comes in its own good time and manner, and if Change is what I wish for, then I might as well sit back and have a silent chat with my friend of the woods while It readies itself.

If I’ve been living in a world with clear goals and rules, those drifted away with the end of last year. If I turn to look for pictures, worlds, calculations and evidence to substantiate what I think I know, I find myself adrift in a featureless sky. I resist the uncertain, but overall I find I don’t mind.

I share this with a sense that I enjoy company in this process, and the hope that my companions might like hearing from a fellow traveler. Our rough friend smiles, rooted in the Earth we all share at the moment, and I believe he’s humming a song from a dream…